Now She's Gone: A Novel (7 page)

She was wrong about that. I saw him in some play and he was good. All the girls in the audience swooned. I hated them so much. Bitches!

Mom kept onto me to break it off with him. I couldn’t. He’d hate me when I told him. He’d tell me I thought I was ‘too good’ for him. Me? Too good? If he only knew.

I begged him to get a real job just to appease her. Just to get her off my back. He refused. He told me he was a dreamer. But then again, so was I.

I told him, ‘Dreams don’t pay the rent!’

God! I sounded just like my mother! I would have to stop doing that!

He eyed me and said, ‘Well, Sandy, I never said they did.’

I pouted and he came over to me. I looked up at him and shook my head. ‘Please do it for me.’

‘I’m moving to LA,’ he said and kissed my cheek, then turned my face towards his before he kissed me. ‘And you’re coming with me.’

I let him kiss me for a long moment. I began to feel it. He could just touch me and I would feel it. And he was so cute. Handsome, really. He had these beautiful blue eyes. The kind of eyes that you just lose yourself in.

I never knew what he saw in me but I was glad he saw something he liked. I loved being with him.

He walked me backwards over to the couch and began to kiss me through my clothes. I lay there and allowed him to do whatever he wanted to do. I loved the way his hands moved over my body. It made me tense with anticipation. I wanted his dick in me but then again, I wanted his hands to keep moving.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I sat up, unzipped his pants and bent down to give him some of what he’d been giving me. He loved it when I gave him head. I loved to do it. I loved to nibble on his dick and then take it all in my mouth. I gave him everything I had until he pulled out, bent down and kissed me, pushed me back on the couch and climbed on top.

‘You’re moving with me,’ he whispered before he put it in.

I wrapped my legs around his waist and he began to fuck me. We stared into each other’s eyes, getting lost in the lust as we always did. Once we were together, nothing else mattered. He did that to me. He made me forget all the bad stuff in my life.”

I hated this asshole, too. I shook my head, looked around the room, then went back to reading.

“He began to move quickly and I knew he was about to come. I began to move with him and once I felt it, I dug my nails into his back. He flinched, then grinned at me and really began to fuck me hard, just the way I liked it.

When it was over, I knew I was going to go with him.”

I shut the journal and looked around the room. I shook my head. I was
this
close to a jealous rage.

But that was a long time ago. She didn’t still love this guy still, did she? It suddenly occurred to me that she could be with this bastard, living out in Hollywood while I was pining for her. Was that where she was? Living it up while I sat here and rotted?

I stood and began to pace. No. Maybe. Maybe not. I should read the rest of it and see what happened to this prince. I made a vow to myself that if she was with him, I would hunt him down and beat the living shit out of him.

Good. Good decision. I picked the journal up and started reading again.

“Frank wrote me this poem:

Her beauty waits on a crescent

Timeless as the hour

Given birth to the sky

She believes only in herself

Her hands delicate

She has the eye of a hungry boxer

Her feet tiny

She races through the day in a ballerina’s body

Never does she claim to know more than she really does

Never will I be able to capture her

Or put our love in a bottle

Never will we float together

Carried by a tireless ocean

To our somewhere

She doesn’t want that.”

The bastard wrote her a poem? I shook my head and re-read it. It was okay, I guess. If you liked that kind of thing.
She believes only in herself.
Well, he had that right anyway. Maybe I should have written a poem for her.

I threw my hands up in the hair and shook my fist at the ceiling. I couldn’t win. I couldn’t win. I couldn’t win. I should just stop trying.

I went back to the page.

“I think he would have made a much better poet than actor.”

I rolled my eyes.

“I just thought that poem was the shit. I still carry it around with me in my wallet. Whenever I’m down, I take it out and read it. It makes me feel special.”

He probably didn’t even write it. Couldn’t she see when she was being duped? She was such a romantic. She wanted candles and baths and backrubs. She always wanted me to tell her why I loved her.

“Why?” she’d ask. “Why do
you
love
me
?”

I would just stare at her and say, “Because I can’t help it.”

This would make her smile and she’d say, “I feel the same way, baby.”

What a liar. If she felt the same way, I wouldn’t be reading her journals and finding out about all of her old lovers.

“Frank was always such a romantic. But then of course, everything changed. Next thing I know, he asked me to move to LA and I almost did. But Mom got sick and he left on his own. She wasn’t really sick. She just used that to get me to stay. Urgh!

Not one fucking year later, Frank made it in Hollywood. He was the shit. I could have killed Mom. Why did she want to ruin my life? Why did she keep interfering? And he was huge! You couldn’t go into a grocery store without seeing his face splattered all over the tabloids. ‘Frank’s Big Night Out!’ and ‘Frank, the Womanizer!’”

And to think, I’d never even heard of him. Has-been was what he was now. Ha!

“I would sit and hold those damn tabloids with his face on them and cry for hours. I would shake with rage and disappointment. He was so in love with me and then, bam! He was gone and I was stuck here! Thanks to her!

That’s when I told myself that she would never destroy another relationship of mine. She would never come between me and my man, whoever he happened to be. I didn’t care if he was a bum; if I loved him, I wouldn’t let her get in the way. She was going to stop controlling my life once and for all.

He never looked me up, either. He never called once he was gone. He never did anything to find me and he knew where I was. I guess the bastard was having too much fun. Or maybe he was just too hurt because I was such a chicken shit.”

Served her right, I thought smugly. Oh, shit. That was a little harsh, even for me. Sorry, sorry, sorry.

“So, maybe it was just as well, I suppose. I’m tired. Goodnight.”

Goodnight to you, too.

Bruce

“Now, the next thing that happened was when the real love of my life showed up.”

If she says it’s some guy named Earl or Clay or whatever, I was going to explode.

“Finally! I was about twenty-four then, maybe twenty-five, I think. One of the cocktail waitresses had quit and I was asked to fill in for her and, of course, it was a big football game night (Georgia Tech versus UGA) and it was busy.

I hated being a cocktail waitress. It sucked. You’ve got on a cute little bikini top, short-shorts and high heels. You’re wobbling around hoping you don’t fall into some guy’s lap. (Not that most guys would mind that.) You get good tips but it’s hard work. I’ve never worked so hard in my life as I did that night. And that’s saying something.

So, I’m busting my ass and these business suits sit down at one of my tables. I race over, drop off a few drinks on the way then make it to their table. He’s sitting there and when he glanced up at me, our eyes just locked. I think my heart stopped beating. We just stared at each other for a long minute, like we were in a time warp or something, until one of the other suits jabbed him in the ribs.

‘He’d like a beer,’ he said, laughing.

I winked at him and took their drink orders. When I came back, he was all nervous and so sweet! He wouldn’t even look at me. Well, I looked at him. Man, he was fine piece of ass.”

I grinned. Yeah. I was. Surely, she won’t say it’s some other guy.

“He had really dark hair and really blue eyes. His lashes just framed those eyes. He had a magnificent jaw-line, very square and very, very masculine. Very delicious to look at and his lips…oh, Lord, those lips. They were so full and red they didn’t look real. I wanted to nibble at them.”

Yeah, she
had
to be talking about me. She hated her legs. I hated my lips. We both loved what the other hated.

“I don’t know what it was about him, but he was fine. F-I-N-E, fine!

I delivered their drinks and went back to work feeling his eyes on me as I moved around the room in my little jean shorts and bikini top. I was so glad I’d lost that extra five pounds ’cause I looked hot. And he knew it. I knew he couldn’t wait to get his hands on me. I couldn’t wait to get my hands on him, either.

But he didn’t speak to me the entire evening. He and the other suits just sat there. One got a lap dance. One got a private show. He just sat there and tried not to look at me. The club was getting ready to close and I knew if I didn’t make a move soon, I’d regret it.

I went up to their table and said, oh so sweetly, ‘Boys, it’s closing time.’

And I looked directly at him.

‘Okay,’ one of them said. ‘Oh, by the way, Bruce wants your number.’

Everyone cracked up and the guy jabbed him in the ribs. All I did was smile. So that was his name. Bruce. I liked that name.”

Phew.

“I grinned and Bruce looked like he could have killed the guy.

Just to get him, I asked the other guy, ‘What about you? You want my number, too?’”

She did do that. I almost died, too. If he had taken her number, I would have killed him.

“And the other guy was like, ‘I would but I’d have a fight on my hands.’

‘Well,’ I said and turned to Bruce. ‘If he wants my number, he has to ask for it.’

The good thing about working in a strip club is you become so comfortable with men that they don’t intimidate you. They lose their power over you because, to you, they’re just another guy in the club. It gives you confidence because you know, at least in the club, that you have the power over them. Even if they’re sitting there in an expensive suit. Even if they do intimidate you, you’re not so cowed down you won’t speak up. You know, to get what you want.

He looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him up. He stuttered, ‘I…uh…me…yeah.’

He did! He stuttered, I…uh…me…yeah.

I grinned, leaned down (so my tits were in his face) and asked for a pen. He took one out of his jacket and handed it to me. I took his hand and wrote my number across his palm.

‘That’s my cell,” I said and wrote another number. ‘And that’s my landline. Got it?’

He nodded like a good boy.

I winked and sashayed off. He called the next day.

It’s getting late and my hand is about to fall off. I better stop writing for a while.”

I smiled. I’d forgotten about all that. I got up and stretched. What now? Should I make some calls? What should I do?

I stared at the journals. I was only through one of them. I ordered a pizza and picked up the next one.

“So, Bruce called the next day and I’ve already masturbated about nine times to a fantasy of him and me in a hammock.”

Oh, good God. I did the same thing! But, however, I had made myself masturbate to take the edge off. I didn’t want to be too eager when we saw each other again. My fantasies had been less romantic, though. I had fucked her in my bed. Then on top of my car. Then on the kitchen table.

“He asked me to dinner.

I feigned indifference and said, ‘Sure, why not?’

He took me to this really nice Italian place and then he asked if I wanted to go to a movie. I stared at him. The thing with me is I always fuck on the first date. I figure, if the guy sucks in the sack, I won’t want him anyway, so why waste time? I kind of figured Bruce might get the wrong idea, like I was some sort of major slut or something, but I really didn’t care. I was so horny, too. I hadn’t been with anyone since Frank.

I asked him, ‘You wanna go back to my place? I’ve got some movies we can watch.’

He got my meaning immediately.”

I smiled and put my feet up on the table. This ought to be good.

“He was so nervous. He just started shaking like a leaf. I was nervous too, but I tried to stay calm because I could tell I was going to be in control and the one who would get things moving. I don’t think he was capable of even making the first move. But he sure as hell wasn’t going to miss his opportunity. I sure as hell wasn’t going to let him.

Good thing, too. If he’d chickened out on me, I would have kicked his ass to the curb. I don’t like wimpy men. I once met this guy at a bar and planned on taking him back to my place and having some wild monkey sex. But he said, ‘I don’t have sex on the first date.’

I was appalled that he had said something so stupid. I told him, ‘We are not on a date, asshole and after you said that, I wouldn’t fuck you anyway.’ What a damned idiot. Who are these men who have these kinds of rules?! Did they get them off some stupid movie or something? Or in church?

Well, Bruce and I got back to my place and I offered him a beer. I didn’t have anything else. He said he’d like one. I got us each one and we sat down on the couch and stared at the damn TV and I thought, fuck this shit. I want to fuck him.

I turned to him and smiled. He smiled back nervously and kept his eyes glued to the TV. Mmmm… Whatever.

The thing about Bruce is that he’s hotter than Wayne and that’s saying something. He’s so damned good looking but, like Wayne, he really doesn’t have a clue he is, which makes him even cuter. And he’s tall, about six-something. I don’t really know how tall he is. I just look up at him ’cause I ain’t got much choice. Because he’s so big, he makes me feel so little and delicate. I just always feel so good when he’s around. Like I’m a little doll or something. I love to sit in his lap and stare up at him.”